


finally moving

by dellaluce



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:51:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dellaluce/pseuds/dellaluce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time, it makes sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	finally moving

**Author's Note:**

> written as a sort of challenge/songfic to [finally moving](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sk9XYQMRiLY) by pretty lights.

_There's a wetness in his mouth and it tastes like_

milk and cereal at the breakfast table, six years old and skeleton sinking into the chair by inches it can't afford, first day of school and he's terrified of

 _dying, sticky-bitter copper where air should go and the whole of him hurts, makes him panic, makes him feel like he's_

running out of breath even as he kicks clouds of bubbles and scrapes the concrete bottom with his fingertips, squints through the burn of chlorine, and the only good part about it is that he can't hear the kids who thought he might look funny

 _drowning, breathing in so hard for nothing but wet lips and cracked ribs and a premortem death rattle that shakes his empty lungs, and he thinks_

he can't get any more pathetic, the way he slumps against his door swiping at his eyes, swallowing down the weight of his father's words until his stomach hurts: is this it? when something gets too hard, you just give up?

And maybe he should, he thinks, balling his fists; maybe he's just exceeding expectations by doing the smart thing for once, not wasting his time worrying

 _about his friends, Rose and her darkness, Dave and his bitterness, Jade and her losses, and the way he just let them all down because he can't do a damn thing for them when it's nothing but black and blue and red all over, trembling with_

helpless frustration as they throw him and he gets back to his feet, because he's not a hero, he's not, but he can pretend he's one, so he spits blood and feels a surge of

 _light and warmth, and he doesn't feel_

anything, he thinks, anything to bring it all back, 6.8 billion in the craters and the dust and it's up to him, it's up to all of them, so he wraps up his hand for the

 _pain, like he's burned it all out, like he's washed it all out, like he's growing and stretching to fill a space that was meant for him all along, and if the world is going to get remade, then maybe he is too, maybe he's_

waking up to a sky yawning blue and wide enough to swallow him up, fissures burning molten red wide enough to swallow him down, and he almost makes it intact between the two with his hand stretched out feeling like his heart's full to

 _bursting open with a shuddering, coughing gasp, needle-numb and tingling with ghost sensations he's sure used to be his before he shed that piece of him, rebuilding, learning how to feel his fingers again, how to breathe, and he unclenches his fist, taking in wind breeze breath air, air, air,_

heir, he thinks, opening his eyes to a sky yawning blue and wide enough to swallow him up, and for the first time, it finally makes sense.


End file.
